Skye stretched herself so she might lie straight out, the back of her head resting upon the windowsill while her flowing hair fell over it and blew in the gentle breeze. Having clean hair felt wonderful, and Skye closed her eyes for a moment in the bright sunlight, humming lazily to herself as Mignon poured the bath oil into the waiting tub and mixed it with a wooden paddle. It was several long minutes before the scent suited the tiny Frenchwoman, and by that time Skye’s mane was almost completely dry.
“Sit up, madame,” Mignon said with a cluck of satisfaction. Swiftly she pinned the hair atop her mistress’s head. “You will find your tub perfection,” she said as she helped Skye up a pair of steps and down into the water.
“Ohh, yes,” Skye murmured as the hot, fragrant water soaked into her skin and tired muscles.
Mignon chuckled. “Eight days in a jouncing coach is exhausting,” she said sympathetically.
“Could I soak for a few minutes?” Skye begged, and Mignon smiled.
“Of course, madame! I will begin to unpack your things, which the footmen have brought up to the garderobe. I am going to find you a comfortable robe de chambre so you may rest for a few hours until the evening meal. I have ordered up some fruit, cheese, bread, and wine for you, as I suspect that you are hungry.” Then she was off to the garderobe as Skye’s thanks rang out.
What a jewel, Skye thought, and how fortunate she was that Mignon was available to serve her. Skye sighed, and snuggled down deep into the warmth. She could feel the very pores in her skin welcoming the heat and the silken bath oil. How foolish those poor women were who thought bathing was injurious to health, and covered their body odors in layers of perfume. Bathing was truly heaven-sent, and nothing cleaned a body like soap and water.
“Do you want company?”
Skye didn’t even bother to open her eyes. “Not now, Adam,” she pleaded prettily. “I don’t know the last time I so enjoyed a bath.”
His deep laughter rumbled about the room. Her refusal did not, he knew, stem from prudishness, or a cold nature. She simply did not wish to share her tub this time. Her enjoyment was plainly written upon her face. “I’ve already instructed old Guillaume to have a tub prepared for me, but I stopped on the chance you might be willing to share, little girl. I will be back when I have bathed.”
When she opened her eyes briefly he was already gone. Why was he coming back? Then the truth dawned on her. For almost two weeks she had slept in the same bed with him, and other than hold her close in the night he had made no move to touch her. Adam was a man, however, and he had his needs as she had hers. He wanted her; she had not needed to see his face or the look in his eyes to know that. She had heard the longing in his voice. Adam was the one man she would never use, Skye thought seriously. If he wanted to make love to her, then they should make love. She smiled to herself, and then a tiny frown creased her brow as she remembered that no man had made love to her since Kedar.
“Are you ready to be washed, madame?”
Skye jumped at the sound of Mignon’s voice. “Y-yes,” she managed to answer as her eyes flew open.
“I am sorry, madame,” Mignon apologized. “I did not mean to startle you.”
“It’s all right,” Skye assured the tiring woman. “I was merely thinking.”
“About M’sieur Adam?” Mignon inquired slyly. “I have known him since he was a boy. He is, how you say it, formidable! Magnifique! Un grand homme passionné! He is your lover?”
“She is to be my wife, you nosy creature,” Adam chuckled from the door that connected their two rooms. “She is in mourning now for her last husband, but we have known each other a long while, Mignon, and Skye will marry me sometime next year.”
“M’sieur Adam!” Mignon dropped the sea sponge with which she had been washing Skye’s back, and clapped her hands together with delight. Then she ran to him, took his face in her two hands, and kissed him on both cheeks. “Bonne chance, M’sieur Adam!” she exclaimed. “I am so happy for you! Did I not tell you those long years ago when that wretched Mam’selle Athenais spurned you that somewhere there was a wife for you. Madame Skye is far more beautiful than that other one!”
“She has a good heart too, Mignon,” Adam said seriously.
“You are impossible!” Skye fussed at him. “Go and bathe, you great fool. You stink of half the roads of France! Mignon, this water grows cold!”
With another chuckle Adam disappeared back through the connecting door into his own room. Mignon, realizing the truth of Skye’s complaint about the bath water, clucked and fussed as she swiftly washed her new mistress, then assisted her from the tub to dry her. “Madame la Comtesse tells me we are to go to Paris for the royal wedding,” she chatted. “I did not think to be included in that journey. What a tale to tell my grandchildren!”
“You are married?” Skye was surprised.
“To Guillaume, who valets M’sieur Adam. He is much older than I, of course, but we have been married many years. I had my two babies before I came to be a tiring woman. When Comtesse Gabrielle married with M’sieur Antoine and brought her children to the château, Guillaume was assigned to be M’sieur Adam’s valet. Now my husband is retired, but when he learned that M’sieur Adam would be visiting nothing would do but that he serve his old master. We have several grandchildren, madame, and they will enjoy the tales we will bring back of the royal wedding in Paris.”
Skye smiled, remembering how very much Daisy enjoyed the galas and entertainments at court. “A wedding is a wedding,” she said. “I expect this one will be far more lavish, nothing more. Still, perhaps we can find some special treat to bring back to the little ones.”
“Madame! You are too kind!”
“I have children too, Mignon, and I know that even the smallest of gifts delights them.”
Mignon fairly hummed with approval of her new mistress as she helped Skye into a pale-rose silk caftan with tiny pearl buttons. Seating her, Mignon unpinned Skye’s hair and began to brush it out. Only faintly damp, it shone with soft blue lights and was sweet with the scent of roses. At last the tiring woman was satisfied. “There, madame, it is done. Now where shall I serve you? In the salon?”
“No,” Skye said. “I am weary. Bring me a small piece of bread with a bit of cheese and a little wine. I will eat it here by the window, and then rest.”
Mignon hurried to do as she was bid, and when she had placed the plate and goblet by Skye’s side, she said, “Your gowns are frightfully wrinkled from all that travel. While you rest I shall see if I can get one in decent condition for you to wear tonight.”
“Merci, Mignon,” Skye replied as the woman departed the room.
She chewed slowly, savoring the fresh, crisp bread with its covering of soft, ripe cheese. The golden wine was sweet and very mellow to her taste. Her gaze moved out through the windows into the gardens below, where several children were playing under the careful supervision of three nursemaids. For a moment Skye wondered how her own children were faring. Then she shook her head irritably. They were all safe, and well fed, and warm, and clothed. They survived quite well without her. Quick tears sprang forth from her beautiful eyes. She was being unfair to her children. They survived without her because they had to, but she knew that they didn’t like being apart from their mother any more than she liked being apart from them. Still, she was not quite ready to return to England: not yet ready to be a mother again, to pit her wits against those of Elizabeth Tudor. The last two years had been very harsh, and she needed time to regain her strength. She brushed the remaining crumbs from her lap, drained the goblet of the last sip of wine, and, standing up, walked over to the bed and lay down.
God’s bones, she was tired, and her head had barely hit the down pillows when she was asleep. She had no idea how long she slept, but she awoke to find the shadows long in the room, and Adam snoring lightly by her side. She gazed down on him for a moment, and then smiled. He was such a big man. He made her feel small, which she most certainly was not. There were the f
aintest flecks of silver in his shaggy black hair now, and she wondered how many of them she had given him. Strange, she thought, she had never noticed how beautifully sculpted the planes of his face were. The skin stretched over his high cheekbones was smooth, although tanned with the sun of the outdoor life he preferred living. She liked the way he wore his beard now, clipped close and coming down from the round of his mustache, which enhanced his sensuous mouth. He was such a handsome man.
“Do you intend to eat me, or just paint me, little girl?” he inquired humorously as he opened his eyes and looked up at her.
“I was just deciding what a handsome man you are,” she said frankly.
“You mean you never noticed until now?” he demanded in a slightly aggrieved tone.
“No,” she giggled, “but gazing at you in sleep, I looked closer than I ever have. I’ve always thought you were handsome, but on more acute inspection I have decided you are very handsome.”
She was resting on an elbow looking down at him as she spoke, and now his arm came up to draw her down to him. “Come here to me, little girl,” he said in a low, deep voice, and then his mouth was finding hers, tenderly kissing it, gently seeking a response that he knew existed, despite her protests. For a moment Skye was startled, even surprised, although she had been expecting him to ask to make love to her. Then she realized that it was because for the first time in well over a year she was being kissed with love, not just lust. This was not Kedar with his voracious appetites for her body, with his insane passion to possess her totally. This was Adam—Adam, her gentle giant who had loved her for so long. She felt her tears flow unbidden as a mixture of joy and relief flooded her. He lifted his head slowly, and tenderly began to lick the tears away. Skye shivered at the pure sensuousness of his simple action, knowing at the same moment that she wanted him not just for now, but for all time.
She wanted to laugh at how foolish she had been in her grief over Niall’s death. Adam had understood, bless him. He had understood the pain, and the disappointment, and the anger that had welled up in her, and he had loved her nonetheless, and said he could be patient. Men were born to die, and if she had lost previous husbands it had only been in the fabric of life. Do not fight your fate so hard, Osman had always warned her. With a sudden burst of clarity Skye knew that Adam de Marisco was her fate.
“Oh, Adam,” she whispered almost brokenly, “I love you!”
He lifted his great head, and with a mischievous grin he replied, “I know that, little girl. Why do you think I was so damned willing to be patient? You simply needed time to come to yourself again.”
She hit at him weakly with her fist. “How could you know when I didn’t?” she demanded.
“You knew too, Skye O’Malley, you knew that you loved me. You were just not willing to admit to it. I was sure, being the sensible creature you are, that eventually you would.” With a smooth action he turned her so that she now lay upon her back, and he hovered over her. “I love you, my Celtic witch. I have loved you from the first, but you were not ready then to love me. In my foolishness I thought that you should be married to a more powerful, more important man, but I was wrong, little girl. I am the only man for you, Skye!” He bent his leonine head down and brushed her mouth with his very lightly, sending a pleasant tingle through her. “Yes, I am the only man for you, my darling, and you are the only woman for me!”
“I am still not sure that I want to marry again,” she said softly
“That feeling will pass,” he said with such certainty that she had to laugh.
“Adam!”
“Well, it will! Besides, we should wait a year.”
“A whole year?” she teased him.
“Well,” he reconsidered, “perhaps not a whole year. After all, little girl, Niall was presumed dead over three years ago, and the Queen gave you no time to mourn then.”
“That is why I need a little time now, Adam,” was her reply. “I was hustled into marriage with the Duc de Beaumont de Jaspre three months after Niall’s alleged murder. It was indecent of Elizabeth Tudor, but I needed her help, and she needed a bride to send to the duc. Give me time now, my darling. We will go up to Paris with your family, and enjoy all the festivities that go with the marriage of a royal princess and an heir to France’s throne. We do not need to be married to have a good time, my darling Adam!” Her eyes twinkled humorously at him. “We have never needed to be wed to have a good time, my lord of Lundy!”
“You are a minx,” he said, and his own eyes twinkled back at her. Then his hand moved to the little pearl buttons on her rose-colored caftan. “Do you remember the last time that you wore this for me?” he asked. Skye shook her head in the negative. “When I came to London just before you departed for Beaumont de Jaspre. You told me that you were being sold into marriage, a loveless marriage, and that before you went we would spend our time together loving each other so we might have sweet memories. Do you remember now, Skye?” He bared a soft, round breast and, bending, kissed it tenderly.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I remember, Adam.”
“Did he love you, your duc?” His tongue flicked out to begin a tortuous encirclement of her sensitive nipple.
Skye shivered as the warmth of his tongue and the cool air of the early evening worked together to bring her nipple to a hard point. “Fabron did not know how to love,” she gasped as he bared her other breast and began to tease at it. “He was a sad man. Damn, Adam! You will drive me wild! Stop!”
“I adore you wild!” he chuckled indulgently.
Her answer was to fumble with the laces on his silk shirt, and successful at that, slip her hands inside to caress his broad back. She could feel the hard muscles beneath his skin tense as he restrained himself. Wickedly she ran her sharp nails lightly down the skin, and heard with total satisfaction his sharp intake of breath. She impishly caught at the lobe of his ear and gently bit it.
“Wench,” he growled with mock fierceness, “you shall pay for that liberty!”
“Make me!” she taunted, and then squealed as he yanked the caftan apart, baring her to his fiery gaze.
His hands slid with delicious familiarity over her torso, and to his vast amusement she sighed with great delight. “Wanton!” he muttered at her.
“You don’t understand, Adam,” she said. “The last time a man made love to me it was not because he loved me. It was because I belonged to him, and he sought to relieve his lust. When you touch me it is with love. Oh, my darling Adam, I want you to touch me with love! I want you to make love to me! I so very much need to be loved again as a woman, and not as a possession!”
His smoky blue eyes gazed down into hers. “It is not a very hard task you set me, Skye,” he said softly.
“Love me,” she repeated as softly, and his mouth again descended upon hers to make her his warm and willing captive. Her arms slipped up around his neck to draw him even closer, her round and tender breasts pressed hard against his furred chest. He had never kissed her with such deep passion, his sensuous mouth seemingly welded to hers, sending alternate shivers and waves of heat throughout her body. He demanded much, yet he gave as well, and Skye felt herself soaring under the sweet pressure of his lips. She yielded herself to him, to his care, and he kissed her hungrily, muttering fiercely against her mouth, “I love you! I love you, my sweet Skye!”
Then they heard it, the insistent knocking at the bedchamber door. With a smothered curse Adam broke away from her, roaring, “What is it, dammit?!”
The door opened. “It is time that you begin to ready yourselves for the evening meal, mes enfants,” Mignon said calmly with all the smug privilege of an upper servant of long standing.
“Go away, Mignon!”
“Non, M’sieur Adam! Your maman has had the cooks preparing for days for your arrival. She would be most distressed if you did not appear in the dining hall tonight.” Her cherry-black eyes twinkled. “You had best eat, mon chou! I suspect you will need all your strength for later.” She chuckled. “Up
with you now, and go to Guillaume. He is waiting to dress you.”
Grumbling about no privacy and being treated like a lad not yet breeched, Adam de Marisco got up and, with a regretful look at Skye, left the room.
With a pretty blush Skye drew the two edges of her caftan together and sat up. “Were you able to salvage one of my gowns?” she asked in an attempt to change the subject and save her dignity.
“Oui, madame,” came the cheerful reply, “and madame must not be embarrassed. We French understand about love, and it is most obvious that you and M’sieur Adam love each other. Then, too, you are betrothed, and who is to gainsay you if you love a little while you wait to wed.” She smiled at Skye. “Come now, madame. I have managed to ready a lovely silk gown for you the blue-green color of the sea. Let me bring you your jewelry case so you may decide what you will wear with it.”
“I have no jewelry case with my clothes,” Skye said. “My jewels went back to England with my tiring woman.”
“Perhaps she forgot, madame, for there is a small carved ivory box among your things,” Mignon replied.
Skye shook her head. She did not remember an ivory box, and it was not like Daisy to forget her jewelry. “Bring it to me,” she commanded.
Mignon disappeared into the garderobe a moment, returning quickly with a rectangular box carved of creamy ivory. “There you are, madame,” she said, placing the box in Skye’s lap.
As the maidservant turned away to finish her chores, Skye turned the little gold key that was in the lock, opened the box, and gasped with a mixture of shock and surprise as the lid raised to reveal the contents. Stuck within the lid was a folded parchment, and pulling it out, Skye opened it to read: Doucette, I had these made for you when I thought you might return to me. Since I will not give my wife jewelry made for another woman, I beg that you take this small offering that was meant only for you. Nicolas.
All the Sweet Tomorrows Page 51